


Comfort and Warmth

by AmethystAuthoress



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Cute, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Love Confessions, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Only slight angst, Pining, Sherlock Holmes Needs a Hug, Sherlock Holmes definately needs cuddles, Spoilers if you haven't watched seasons 1-4, and cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2019-11-23 16:15:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18154130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmethystAuthoress/pseuds/AmethystAuthoress
Summary: Four moments when Sherlock (whether intentionally or not) sought out Molly for physical comfort... aka "cuddles".





	1. Chapter 1

It all happened so quickly.  
Molly knew something big was happening. She saw the pictures in the papers - “Get Sherlock” scrawled across soon-to-be-broken glass. She heard the news about the kidnappings. She argued with the people who claimed that Sherlock was involved. She heard the rushed mentions of Sherlock taking John hostage even. Anyone could guess that that was a ruse.  
What Molly Hooper did not guess was that Sherlock Holmes would show up at her work to tell her that he was going to die.  
She had been in love with Sherlock for a long time, if one could call it love. Perhaps it was merely infatuation. Regardless, Molly cared deeply about Sherlock. He was brilliant, mysterious, blunt, exciting...and, if she were pushed to admit it, sexy. She still blushed like a cliché when she thought about that aspect of the man.  
It wasn't all about her attraction to him though. She had gotten a bit closer to Sherlock in the recent months. Though she knew his flirtations were merely him trying to get her to do more favors for him (manipulative, charming bastard)... He also had shown real vulnerability with her at times.  
Still, that small friendship couldn't have possibly prepared her for Sherlock Holmes to appear at her work while he was on the run from police. He was just standing there in the dark, talking about death. Her mind was racing but she knew this was an urgent matter. All she could think of was to keep asking what it was he needed. He obviously needed something – he only ever came to her when he needed something – and she was beginning to become frightened from how he was carrying on.   
“You.”  
The fall was frightening. Even with everything put in place for him to be perfectly fine, aside from some bruising... Molly was still worried. If anything went wrong, she wasn't sure how she would cope.  
Luckily, the fall went as well as it could.  
Which resulted in the current situation: A very exhausted Sherlock Holmes, sitting in Molly Hooper's flat a little past 3am.   
“Are you alright?” Molly asked.  
Sherlock didn't respond right away. He had spent the past several hours sending messages from burner phones, showering, and doing god-knows-what on Molly's old laptop. Now he was merely sitting there, silent and unmoving.  
“I'm fine Molly.”  
That statement was debatable, which became clearer as she got closer to him. She had initially been annoyed that the light and his footsteps woke her up, but now she could see him and he just looked...tired and empty.   
“Sherlock, have you tried sleeping at all?” She inquired, gently.  
The only answer she received was him looking downwards. His face moved up to rub his face for a moment, as he rose from the couch. He moved slowly, yet he still somehow managed to walk directly into the corner of her table, swearing ensuing.   
“Okay, you need to sleep.”   
Molly tried to reach for his arm, to direct him, but he yanked away.  
“I'm fine, Molly. I've gone days without sleep before while working on cases and some of those involved far more physical activity than today did. I'll survive.”  
His tone had a bite to it. She cringed, but wouldn't back down. She wanted to point out the fact that none of those past cases involved everyone thinking he was a liar. None of them involved him pretending to be dead. None of them involved him having to leave his entire life behind, unable to speak to his best friend – who has to stay thinking that he's gone forever in order to protect him. None of them involved Sherlock's world falling apart.  
She said none of those things. He wasn't in the mood to listen.  
“Sherlock Holmes, I am risking my life in order to give you a place to stay. You need rest, and I need rest. I cannot sleep until you sleep.” She stated, firmly.  
Then, she grabbed his arm and dragged him into her bedroom. She initially had intended to have him sleep on the couch, but things had changed after seeing him. She pulled back the blanket and gestured for him to get in the bed.  
Sherlock gave her an unreadable expression.  
“While I appreciate the offer, I think you know that I'm married to my work and now is not the ti-”  
“Sherlock!” Molly exclaimed, “I'm not propositioning you. You need the sleep. My bed is the best for that, and I need to know that you will actually sleep. No more easy access to computers and things. I'll be out in the living room if you need anything.”   
“The living room?”  
“Yes, to sleep on the couch.”  
He looked down at her bed, then back to her and down her frame in a way that caused her to blush. He then took a step closer, his hand reaching for her face, his eyes scanning her face for...  
“Molly, you are showing clear signs of sleep deprivation. Your eyes are slightly bloodshot, the bags under them are worse, you keep closing your eyes in a way that would indicate a headache, you have suppressed a yawn a total of three times since you've come in here, and...” He grabbed her wrist, “...your hands are shaking.”  
She wasn't sure if her trembling hands had to do with lack of sleep or Sherlock's closeness, but he was right, of course. She was exhausted.  
“I didn't ask to be deduced.”  
“Very few do. Regardless, you have clearly been overworking yourself and need rest on a proper bed. I know that you will continue protesting that I need the rest of a proper bed as well, so I propose a compromise: We both sleep on the bed.” Sherlock stated, clapping his hands together.  
This woke Molly up a bit more, though it took a bit for what he had said to process still.  
“We both...?”  
Sherlock was already removing his outer layers. He paused when he heard her question.  
“If you're comfortable. There's no reason not to be. Your bed is unnaturally large for such a small woman, and it's not like you have guests visiting it oft-” He stopped himself, realizing for once that the comment he was about to make wouldn't be one that would end with his pathologist being very happy with him. “There's adequate space for both of us. It would be nearly like sleeping on two separate beds anyways.”  
So, that's what they did.  
If they woke up in the morning with Molly's arm and head rested on Sherlock's chest, one of his arms wrapped around her small form, and their legs intertwined... They gave no acknowledgment of it and simply went along with breakfast.   
Sherlock knew that was the best sleep he had gotten in a long time.


	2. Chapter 2

Molly didn't know what she expected to see when she came into work, but it certainly wasn't Sherlock Holmes.  
Two years.  
He had been gone for two years.  
She wanted so badly to hug him, yet knew that he wouldn't appreciate her affection in that way. Still, the way he smiled at her...  
"So you're home." Molly said, simply.  
The two of them were seated in her lab now. Well, Molly was perched on a stool. Sherlock, on the other hand, was merely half-sitting, half-standing against one of the tables. Something about the casualness of the posturing made Molly's heart twinge. That mixed with the fact that his eye was in a sore shape and he was much thinner than she remembered. God, she missed her brilliant idiot barging in on her work days.  
Not her brilliant idiot. Just the brilliant idiot.  
"Correct, Molly," Sherlock responds, "I am back in London - and soon back to Baker Street."  
Molly nodded solomly.  
"Does...does John know?"  
That was the hardest part of it all, for Molly. She could deal with not seeing Sherlock. She could cope with hearing the slander thrown about in regards to the consulting detective - and, sometimes, her connections to sed consulting detective. Watching John grieve his best friend though? While Molly damn well knew that Sherlock wasn't dead (or so she hoped...she didn't fully know what he was up to during his absense) and couldn't tell John the truth? Molly tried her best to comfort the man, and was immensly glad when he found Mary, but she felt the guilt of it all weighing her down.  
Sherlock seemed to stiffen at the question. He looked to the side and swallowed visibly.  
"Yes, John knows."  
Molly regarded him for a momet.  
"Was that what the black eye was for?"  
Sherlock's silence speaks louder than any affirmation.  
Molly almost wanted to laugh. Of course John would punch the bloke. She knew better than to do so in Sherlock's presence though. Besides, today he looked...sad.  
"He'll forgive you," Molly said calmly, "You're his best friend - he'll forgive you in time."  
"I'm sure he will."  
There's an awkward pause and Molly decided to continue her lab work. Sherlock could come or go. He probably would sneak out quietly while she looked at a sample. He often functioned like that. Slipping in and out of her life. Honestly, some selfish part of her was somewhat glad that at least she wasn't alone in it this time...  
She was startled to feel arms come around her waist, as a warm and firm body pressed aganst the back of her.  
Sherlock was actually hugging her. Not even a normal, quick hug. This was Sherlock...Sherlock...spooning her while standing up...?  
"Molly."  
His voice sounded low and rough. She could feel his breath against her ear and tried to suppress her body's natural reactions. She really should pull away, this was too close for comfort, and she had a fiancé...and good god, she was helpless. Sherlock was just hugging her and had spoken her name, she shouldn't be this much of a mess.  
"Thank you."  
Molly turned around at that.  
"What?"  
Sherlock didn't pull back when she turned. Instead he leaned into her, leaning his face into the area where her neck connected wth her shoulder.  
"Thank you, Molly. You have been immensely valuable, and though you have no right to be cross with me, as I did tell you the plan... Thank you for acting as usual. It's...refreshing. To have someone who still acts as they are," She could feel the muscles in his back tense, "Not like John with his ring and bloody mustache."  
She did let herself laugh that time.  
"Mary's a good woman. I think you'll like her, Sherlock. She's tough and kind and intelligent...and John has been telling her all about you, since they met. You two could make for a scary team against John."  
Sherlock let out something between a laugh and a mere exhale.  
"I have to admit," Molly started again, "The moutache does look ridiculous though."  
At that, Sherlock fully laughed. The sound was rich and rare. Molly found herself smiling even harder.  
Sherlock Holmes would be back at 221B later that day. He would reconcile with John. He would announce to the world that he was not, in fact, dead. He would go back to being the famed consulting detective and solving murders. He would have the great exciting life that no one could even begin to guess at yet.  
But, in this moment, he was simply hugging Molly Hooper, his pathologist, in a morgue hospital.  
That was enough.


	3. Chapter 3

Molly arrived home to a sight she hadn't expected.  
Sherlock Holmes was sitting, leaned against her door.  
This wasn't absurdly abnormal. He had shown up at her place for a number of reasons, in varied states (she shuddered as she remembered the time he showed up badly bruised, high, and holding a detached ear...not his ear, of course...).  
It was his face that was unexpected. That red, puffy, obviously tear stained face.  
Sherlock seemed to make some little gasps as he saw her and struggled to stand up, swaying as he did.  
He took several stumbling steps towards her. Molly met him in the middle and suddenly she had a nearly sobbing Holmes attached to her. Not knowing how to deal with this predicament, and becoming gradually more scared (what could have happened for Sherlock to be crying like this...?), Molly simply rubbed his back and alternated between humming and shushing. It was something her aunt had done with her when she was little.  
It took several minutes for the audible crying to stop. It took some more for his breathing to even out. He was still trembling slightly, but Molly thought it was good enough to bring him inside.  
She opened the door after fumbling with her keys for a moment, pushing Sherlock through it and leading him to the couch. He seemed to close in on himself numbly, in the corner, as Molly made it her mission to prepare them some tea.  
Find kettle. Deep breath. Fill with water. Deep breath. Start stove. Deep breath...  
When it was finally ready, she brought the two steaming mugs over to her coffee table and sat down on the couch.  
Neither spoke. Neither drank their tea.  
There would be time for asking Sherlock what was wrong. Molly wouldn't sob upon hearing about the loss of Mary, too in shock to react until after she sees John the next day. Sherlock wouldsound broken and blame himself. John would blame him too, while Molly would try to reassure him that it wasn't. Sherlock would disappear for a while. Molly would take his drug tests and then she would get angry at Sherlock too.  
That was all for later though. Right now, he just needed comfort. He needed Molly.  
So she lowered his head into her lap and played with his hair.  
Later. She would ask him later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a shorter chapter. My boyfriend (the only person I know who I actually had read these) had the idea of this chapter containing no dialogue. I liked the idea so here we are.  
> Also the next chapter will be set after the phone call... So it should be a fun one. ;)


	4. Chapter 4

Molly had never been so angry and empty in her life.  
The phone call was just cruel. It was quite possibly the cruelest thing Sherlock Holmes had ever done to her. I mean, he had to know how she felt about him. After the blog posts, the Christmas party, helping him fake his bloody death, her Sherlock-look-alike fiancé (she acknowledged him as such now), her breaking off her engagement...  
He had to have known.  
Molly was already having a shite day. Toby was sick and not eating as much as he normally did. She had to look at the body of a six year old in the morgue. Someone spilled their smoothie on her favorite blouse when she tried to grab an actually decent coffee from across the street. She was frustrated and tired and just wanted to watch some predictable made-for-TV movie before turning in early.  
Then she got the phone call.  
She couldn't fathom why he was asking this of her. Why did he need to hear those three words from her, specifically? It had to be case related, but she couldn't think of any logical reason why he would need her to say that...so he must just be screwing with her.  
The anger had flared - white heat. After everything she had done for him, everything she put up with...  
Molly hadn't actually processed what she ordered until it left her lips:  
"You say it. Go on. You say it first. Say it like you mean it."  
There had been silence over the line. Part of her begged herself to hang up, since he clearly wasn't going to actually do it. A greater part of her made her stay on the line though. She wanted to see what would happen.  
"I love you."  
The first time he said it, the words sounded awkward. Unsure, perhaps like an actor who hadn't rehearsed properly.  
"I love you."  
The second time it was said, it almost sounded... It almost sounded real.  
It was too much. She couldn't do this to herself anymore, but she made a deal and he was begging her, so she repeated the three words.  
He hung up immediately after.  
She broke.

The government agents filled her in later.  
Of course Sherlock would end up having some sort of psychotic sister who came up with the grand idea of making some sort of psychological torture game. Of course Sherlock would win out yet again. Of course Molly would somehow end up hurting herself by helping him along the way.  
Mycroft's men searched her entire house and surrounding areas for bombs. Apparently Sherlock was saving her life by forcing the confession out of her. She was even more tired now but she couldn't sleep after this.  
"Molly!"  
She turned around to see the man in question darting through police cars to get to where she was. John was running close behind him, while Mycroft watched from a distance. When Sherlock got close enough, he stopped abruptly.  
"Are you alright?"  
The way he had stopped was with his arms out, as if he were going to hug her before freezing some seconds too early. His coat was wet and filthy. His hair looked to be in a similar state. He was pale and sweaty and shaky and...and both of his hands were bandaged and bloody.  
"As well as can be expected," Molly forced out.  
John put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder.  
"Sherlock, we really should let Molly rest."  
"But-"  
Molly was already walking away.

The next day Sherlock Holmes was on her doorstep. He looked awkward, and he barely looked at her before pushing past her into her living room.  
"Sherlock! It's 6am and I barely slept last night!"  
"I didn't sleep at all. This is too important."  
Her stomach dropped. He couldn't seriously be needing her for a case again, this soon.  
"I can't do this right now Sher-"  
"It was real."  
His words were so loud and abrupt that she jumped a bit. Sherlock looked startled himself for a moment.  
"It was real." He repeated. "The phone call. What was said was real."  
Of course he knew. Molly already was aware that he knew. Did he think she was so daft that he'd have to address her feelings and put her down gently? We;;, gently for Sherlock... Her head was pounding. She had to take a deep breath and close her eyes tight for a second. She would not cry in front of him.  
"Listen, I know you just called to finish the task and to save my life," She started, "And I'm very thankful. Of course. I understand that you wouldn't have interest in me like that and it's fine. I'm your pathologist...a-and maybe your friend, but..."  
Sherlock had furrowed his eyebrows and was looking at her intensely by this point.  
"Molly, I don't understand."  
She sighed.  
"Forget it. Forget about all of it."  
Molly sat down on her couch and leaned her head back. She closed her eyes again.  
It was silent for a bit. Then footsteps came a bit closer. Then there was a slight air change and some weight on her knee. Molly opened her eyes to see Sherlock kneeling in front of her.  
He still wasn't that much shorter than her, given his tall stature, yet he seemed vulnerable in that position. His tongue darting out to quickly wet his lips, and the fact that he was avoiding looking at her added to the effect. Then their eyes met.  
"Eurus didn't make the mistake that Moriarty did." He started speaking. "She didn't overlook you. She saw how much you mattered to me and she utilized that information."  
Molly listened, feeling stiff and a bit sick, as Sherlock recounted the whole tale. His childhood friend being murdered. The "little girl on the plane". The man who killed himself only to have his wife die anyways. The fear as he was unsure if he could get to John in time. Refusing to choose between his best friend and his brother.  
Sherlock skipped around, coming to the part of the story containing her last. That's when she learned of the damning coffin and the video with the countdown. That's when she learned why Sherlock's hands were bandaged.  
"I was so, so scared of losing you Molly," He finished, his voice wavering slightly.  
She still didn't know what to do with this. Too many emotions and too much information was going through her mind. What did this mean? Why was he here? What the bloody hell did he expect her to say in response? Why hadn't-  
Warm. Her chaotic mind narrowed down to that one word as Sherlock suddenly pressed his lips against hers. She reacted immediately, pressing back against him. Her mind slowly started functioning properly again. He was warm and firm and tasted slightly of alcohol (which was better than his cigarettes) and she had no clue why he was kissing her.  
Sherlock pulled back to stare at her, quickly glancing over her features. He was deducing again. Was that just...an experiment...?  
"Why?" Molly rasped.  
"I told you," He replied, "The phone call was real. I never thought I would seriously say this to someone, and I'm aware that love is mainly just a series of chemicals in the brain. Plus I've already gotten you into serious troubles, along with having had my feelings for you get used against me. You are far too good for a drug addicted sociopath who's an even bigger adrenaline junkie, but here we are. I'm aware that you've had feelings for me in the past, and I'm either correct or just hopeful in claiming that you still do, because I love you, Molly Hooper."  
It was a ramble. It was spoken quickly and not terribly romantic. There was no endearing pleads. There was no poetry. It was just Sherlock, on her floor, being blunt and honest.  
It was perfect.  
"I love you too."

They found themselves curled up on her couch hours later. Molly was wearing Sherlock's shirt. Sherlock was wearing nothing (he said it was freeing). She played with his hair, while he curled around her further, long limbs somehow gripping and surrounding her small form. Molly felt the most peaceful she had in a long time.  
Loving Sherlock Holmes was never easy. There was no naïve concepts of this being the "happily ever after". He would act like an arrogant idiot, she would be too passive. He would sulk. He'd probably come home covered in blood and she'd probably come home exhausted and unable to deal with seeing anyone.  
But there'd also be adventures, stories, passion, intelligence, growth, and love.  
Loving Sherlock was worth it.  
Molly closed her eyes again. With a stupidly wide grin on her face, she snuggled further into her consulting detective and fell back asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading this! My updates haven't been super regular (I have a busy and, at times, complicated life - I write when I have the time and inspiration to), but it's now complete! I hope you've enjoyed it.


End file.
